


Reunification

by TurtleNovas



Series: Moral Decay [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Consensual Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Frottage, Light Masochism, Light breathplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Podfic Available, Porn with Feelings, Season 1 & 2 canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 17:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17187011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleNovas/pseuds/TurtleNovas
Summary: The fifth time the Upside Down makes itself known in their lives, Steve isn't even in town.





	Reunification

**Author's Note:**

> This can stand alone, but was originally intended to be the first chapter of the next fic in the series (meant to be posted as one fic). Then it got very long, and I decided to split it up, because there is some disturbing content in the next part, but this is readable on it's own for anyone who doesn't want to get into that content.
> 
> Also, I am currently working on a prompt table I made for myself for fun. This part is a fill for the prompt "Embrace".

The fifth time the Upside Down makes itself known in their lives, Steve isn't even in town.  He's off at college, studying for finals, one term off from being ready to graduate and go out into the real world to be a successful adult, complete with a job that makes him miserable, and no one around that he cares about. He's left Dustin and Claudia back in Hawkins, and they won't really be able to reunite for the long haul until after  _Dustin_  finishes college.  The future is bleak, at least in the short term, and sometimes he wonders how he's going to make it through four more wretched, lonely years of this shit. 

He gets the phone call after two days of unprecedented radio silence that've had him spinning increasingly more creative fantasies about how he's fucked up again and lost another person he'd thought was a soulmate. Dustin sounds terrified, and reluctant, and so, so sorry to be asking Steve to come home for this, and Steve doesn't even think, just starts hunting for his duffel bag in the depths of his closet, phone cradled against his shoulder.  "I'll be there tomorrow, Dusty.  Don't do anything until I get there.  _Don't do anything_."  

"Yeah, okay," Dustin says, in a quiet, choked off voice that sounds suspiciously like he's totally planning to do something, but wants to reassure Steve anyways.

" _Dusty_ ," Steve says, full of warning and admonishment, already shoving clothes into his bag, heedless of whether they're even clean.  "Promise me. You know how fast this shit can go sideways! Just hole up and  _wait for me_."  

"I'll try, Steve.  I swear.  But everyone's so trigger happy.  You know how it goes. They didn't even want me to call you.  But...you're always the one who's saved us before." He clears his throat.  "And I need you here with me, or I think I'm gonna go fucking insane."

"I'm leaving now, Dusty,” he says in a rush, wanting to soothe Dustin's clearly shattered nerves and frustrated by his own helplessness.  “I'll be there as soon as I can, I fucking swear." He slings his bag over his shoulder and starts hunting for his keys. "Please don't let me show up to find you hurt, okay?”  He doesn't say  _dead_ , but it rings heavy in his head, the fear making his heart race fast enough to send him dizzy. “Please just hang in there for one night."

"I'll do my best, I promise.”  He sounds like he means it, like he's frustrated that there's even a possibility he'll be forced to do otherwise and it makes relief and sympathy flood up in Steve's chest at the same time.  Dustin sighs audibly, and his tone is softer, more relaxed, but equally serious when he says, “Drive safe. I'm at my place. Hopefully I'll still be here when you get here."

"I'll see you soon.  I love you."

"Love you, too, Steve.”  A quick pause and the he adds, “Thanks for coming."  Steve can hear the guilt in it.

“Always,” he says, in a tone he hopes will offer some absolution.  “I'll be there before you know it. Sit tight.”

He waits for Dustin to answer and say goodbye before hanging up the phone and tossing it onto his bed, grabbing his keys from his desk where he'd thrown them instead of putting them on the hook, and rushes out the door, heedless of what his nosy neighbors might think of the show.

He breaks the speed limit the entire way to Hawkins, runs every light he can manage without causing a crash, and still the sun is already peeking over the horizon when he turns onto the Hendersons' driveway.  

Dustin is waiting for him just outside the doorway, watching from the stoop as Steve pulls in, puts the car in park, and gets out, practically throwing himself up the driveway in his haste.  Dustin steps out onto the front walkway to meet him, arms reaching out for Steve long before he's in range, and Steve picks up his pace to a flat out run, despite the short distance. Dustin's hands are on him as soon as he's close enough, and Steve lets himself be pulled in, drops his bag and brings his own hands to Dustin's cheeks, taking a moment just to breathe, their foreheads resting against each other, Dustin's arms around his neck, one hand in his hair.  

Dustin is  _okay_ , as much as he can be when shit like this is going down.  He looks exhausted and harrowed, dark bruises under his eyes, lips chapped, face pale and a little greasy, like he hasn't slept, or possibly even eaten in the last few days, but he seems generally intact, enough that Steve lets himself breathe a sigh of relief.

"I was so scared I'd get here and you'd be gone," he says, running his thumbs over Dustin's cheeks in a motion meant to soothe himself as much as Dustin.

He feels Dustin nod as he gives an angry, clipped grunt.  "They wanted me to leave you a note, so that we could all go barging into the breach together, even though we don't have any fucking plan."  He scoffs and turns his face into Steve's hand, nuzzling at his palm and then putting his mouth there, pausing for a long moment, as if he just wants to savor being close enough to kiss him.  "Who knows? Maybe they have one now. They left to powwow at the Byers'. I told them we'd meet them there whenever you came."

"Dusty," Steve whispers, quiet and agonized, desperately wishing the circumstances of their reunion were different.  Christmas is so fucking close...they almost made it to see each other again for a happy reason. He nearly chokes on the disappointment of it, lost for a moment in the fantasy of a cozy Christmas morning with Dustin and Claudia, full of presents and twinkling fairy lights, snow on the ground outside, and kisses that taste like hot cocoa.  Steve tilts his head to press a kiss against Dustin's forehead. "Where's your mom?" he asks, almost too terrified to know the answer.

"She went to see the witch."  Dustin pulls back just enough to look him in the eye.  "I didn't want her here, but she wanted to help so bad.  I told her about the spell we used last time, to help El close the rift.  She went to see if there's any more magic we might be able to use." His face crumples into a frown.  "Nobody wanted to wait to see if that pans out, either. I swear to fucking god, it's a miracle we've survived as long as we have.  Everybody in this group has a fucking death wish."  

Steve feels his mouth tugging up into a feeble ghost of a smile at that, sardonic and commiserative.  "We'll manage somehow," he says, and presses a thumb delicately against Dustin's lower lip. "We always do."  

Dustin pokes his tongue out to touch Steve's finger, tentative at first, and then more intentional, his eyes going a little dark as he does it.  "I missed you," he says, voice deep like he's setting everything else aside for the moment. It makes heat stir in Steve's belly, vicious and exhilarating.

"I missed you, too."  He pulls his hand away, dragging his thumb down Dustin's chin, leaving a trail of spit to cool in the chilly early morning air.  He kisses him, then, slow and easy, like there's nothing apocalyptic going on, like they have all the time in the world for Steve to savor the taste of Dustin's mouth, as stale as it might be from days of life threatening stress.

Dustin whimpers and goes loose against Steve, sinking into him until they're pressed together chest to knee, hand going tighter in Steve's hair, pulling just the way he knows Steve loves.  He kisses Steve back, hungry and desperate, like he can get all the sustenance he needs just from running his tongue over Steve's, moving their mouths together until it's all warm, and slick, and beautiful, just like it always is between them.  Steve loses himself in it, as much as he can manage, because he knows, once they separate, the world is going to rear its ugly head again, forcing them to step apart, to stop holding each other, to stop touching each other, to stop being wound up in each other, the way he always wants to be, in favor of focusing on the horrors that have once again clawed their way out from their hell world and into Hawkins.  He never wants to stop, never wants to taste anything but Dustin's mouth again, or feel any touch but Dustin's hands on his body, in his hair, under his clothes, gentle and sweet, demanding and healing, and everything that Steve ever needs to thrive. He hates that this evil fucking place is going to take that from him yet again. He hates that, despite all the peace and happiness they've found in each other, life has separated them, and now they can only be together again under the shroud of fear and peril, the weight of responsibility crushing down on both of their shoulders until it's hard to breathe, because the duty of saving the fucking world is suffocating and inescapable.

Dustin's hands are cold, the beginnings of winter nipping at him where he's dressed for indoors, but still he kisses Steve, intent, and sweet, and hungry, need bubbling up in his chest and escaping into the night as soft keening.  Steve knows it must be need, because normally he's the quiet one.  He slides one hand up under the hem of Steve's shirt, fingers scrabbling to untuck it and push his sweater and coat out of the way as well, until the ice cold touch of his skin slides over Steve's warm belly, and Steve can't help but shiver and yelp, pressing the noise into Dustin's mouth as he intentionally flinches into the touch instead of away, utterly willing to suffer the cold if it means having Dustin's hand on him; even more so if it means warming Dustin so that he can stay here longer, can keep giving Steve everything he wishes they could have forever.  Dustin moans when Steve arches into the touch, and pulls again at Steve's hair with his other hand, making the heat in Steve's belly curl around itself and settle even lower, sending blood into his dick, until he feels it plumping up against the zipper of his jeans, a little uncomfortable for the way it's sitting in his underwear, but still so good he hardly cares to adjust, preferring instead to cling to Dustin, one hand fisted tight in his shirt.  He curls his other hand over the long column of Dustin's neck and presses his thumb up into the soft spot on the underside of his jaw, just so, until he can feel his pulse racing against the touch, wild, and free, and  _alive._

Dustin splays his hand wide over Steve's ribs, fingers digging in to the soft spaces between the bones in a way that sends a sharp ache through his body, like poking a bruise, only better, because it's satisfying, and it makes his dick go even harder thinking that he might have marks there, after, if only Dustin presses a little more.  He draws back from the kiss just enough to say, "Harder," into Dustin's mouth, tongue chasing his words over Dustin's lips until Dustin licks back and squeezes his hand even tighter over Steve's rib cage, savage and domineering, just the way Steve likes it. Then he nips at Steve's mouth, all sharp canines and very little caution, and the sting of it makes Steve hiss and arch his hips, as much as he can, standing like this, looking for friction to ease the ache in his dick.  Dustin feels him, pressed up against his thigh, and groans, bending his knee to give Steve more pressure to grind against, shifting his stance so that he can press his hips closer to Steve as well, can let Steve feel the hard, fat length of his own erection against his hip.

It's so good Steve feels a little bit lightheaded, a little crazed and wild, perfectly aware that they're together again for the purpose of doing something brazen and dangerous, for the purpose of saving the world from destruction and doom.  But still, all he wants is to get off first, with Dustin's dick so hard it hurts to feel it grinding into the soft dip of his hip, and Dustin's mouth so warm and savage, he feels like maybe his entire purpose on this planet is just to submit to this boy so that they can take pleasure in each other.  Steve whimpers, drops a hand to Dustin's ass and squeezes as he hitches up the length of Dustin's thigh. He can feel himself starting to leak in his pants, can feel where the wet of it is beginning to make his underwear stick and drag, the cotton going even more rough against his sensitive, weeping dick. He can feel Dustin smiling, too, his mouth gone a little clumsy around the stretch of it, but his tongue still dexterous enough to have Steve practically gagging for more. Dustin gives him a few more moments of kissing, and then pulls back, slow and gentle, giving Steve plenty of time to adjust to the change.  

"You gonna come on my thigh before we go save the world, sweetheart?" He grins, wide and fierce, his canines sharp and distracting next to his cute dimples, pressed deep in soft, cherubic cheeks.

Steve whimpers and hitches his hips up again.  "If you let me." He feels totally adrift, like all he can do to keep himself grounded in reality is hang on to Dustin and rut on him like a dog in heat, pressing into the punishing grip on his ribs and pulling against the fingers in his hair, just to give himself a little pain to chase the insane sense of euphoria he has clouding up his head.  "Dusty," he mumbles, nuzzling clumsily at Dustin's face. "I missed you." He feels his throat going tight around the words, his eyes hot and full with a fresh, stinging sheen of tears. "I missed you," he says again, as if the meaning of it might have gone over Dustin's head the first time.

Dustin drops his hand from Steve's hair to his face, fingertips trailing gently down his cheek, a stark contrast to the still vicious grip he has on Steve's side, persistent and solid enough that Steve actually wonders if Dustin's hand might start to cramp soon.  He's thankful for his resolve, desperate as he is to have those fingerprints branded on his body before they go into this. He wishes Dustin could hold on to him like this forever, until his ribs cracked and his muscles went so soft and blood rich from shattered vessels that they turned to liquid and seeped out over Dustin's skin, staining him forever with part of Steve, so that they can never really be separated again.  Dustin presses his finger tips against Steve's mouth, persistent, but gentle against the seam of his lips, waiting patiently until Steve loosens his jaw and lets Dustin press them inside, his middle finger sliding over Steve's tongue while his index and ring finger slide under, massaging gently until Steve starts salivating around them and closes his lips again to suck and swallow instead. "That's it," Dustin says as Steve sucks hungrily.  "I've got you sweetheart."

Steve hunches in on himself, doing his best to keep contact with Dustin in as many places as possible, but desperate to hide his face, to seek solace in the cradle of Dustin's neck, the way he always does when his body starts to sing and sear this way, Dustin playing him like some kind of fucking maestro, specialized specifically in breaking Steve down to his most needy components.  Dustin lets him move as he needs, lets him rest his head on his shoulder, press his face against the surprisingly warm skin of his neck, still keeping his fingers pressed deep into Steve's mouth, far enough in that Steve could choke on them if he let himself. Dustin keeps the hand on his ribs as well, grip loosening only long enough to let him rearrange his arm when Steve moves, and then returning so brutal it makes Steve whine with the shock of it, as if he's already bruising there and Dustin has dug in with enough force to change it from skin deep to muscle bound.  He lets Steve keep his thigh too, shifts the width of his stance to allow Steve to sit pretty, high on his leg, so he can press into the bone of Dustin's hip, or the soft, meaty part of his thigh. It's good in a way that feels like eating after days without, or drinking down a whole glass of water first thing in the morning, when his entire body is a dried up husk, desperately looking for rehydration. It feels like he's been a dead man walking, and now Dustin is revitalizing him, shoving vitality into him through his skin and down his throat.

Dustin presses a kiss into his hair and crowds his fingers in a little deeper, until Steve's throat seizes up and he chokes on them, a stream of saliva sliding out over his chin as he coughs and tries not to clamp his teeth on Dustin's skin.  Steve feels his dick twitch and drool in response and is fairly sure he's leaked enough by now that he'll have a spot soaked through his jeans.

"Touch my dick," Dustin says, voice firm and unflinching, very much an order rather than a request.

Steve scrambles to obey, desperate for the feel of Dustin's erection in his hand, impaired as he may be by the presence of clothes, and the knowledge that they're still in Dustin's front yard, winter sunrise air nibbling sadistically at any exposed skin.  He slides his hand up between Dustin's legs, cupping him lightly, and then squeezing more firmly when he realizes he can feel the heat of his erection radiating even through the thick layers of fabric. His mouth floods with more saliva, and he wishes he could press his face where his hand is, bury his nose in Dustin's crotch and breathe in the smell of his arousal, taste it heady on his tongue.  Instead he rolls the heel of his palm gently up the hard line of Dustin's shaft, letting his fingers press and drag over the soft swell of his balls, cradling them as much as he can as Dustin shudders, fingers pressing hard into the wet, soft flesh under Steve's tongue. Steve moans in response, and does his best to lave Dustin's fingers with his tongue, twisting and sucking around them, desperate to relay any sort of sensation back to him.

"That's good, Steve."  Dustin presses his thigh up against Steve again, harsh enough that he feels a little jolt of agony in his balls before the pleasure of it rolls through him and he can't help but cling even harder, dick sore and aching from the friction and stricture of his jeans.  He's going to come soon, he thinks, if only Dustin will keep giving him what he wants, hurting him so good, in all the ways only he really knows Steve needs. Steve runs the heel of his hand along Dustin's length again in gratitude, rolling it hard and purposeful against the head, hoping to mimic the feeling of pressure in his slit.  Dustin moans in response, gratified and reassuring.  "Just like that," he says, breathy and weak, hips arching into Steve's hand. Steve does it again, happy to have made Dustin lose himself, even a little, and revels in the way Dustin hitches into him again, everything about him going tight, sending searing daggers of pain through Steve's ribs and making his throat twitch and flutter around the desire to choke again on the fingers resting at the precipice of his gag reflex.  

Steve whines, unwilling to empty his mouth to speak, but wanting to warn Dustin how close he is.  He pitches the sound low, so it's clear he has intent to communicate, and presses his dick right on the harsh jut of Dustin's hip, so it aches like a bruise, hard and unforgiving against his too sensitive erection.  Dustin groans in response and does his best to pull Steve even closer by the ribs, hand shifting just enough that he can rub a thumb, ruthless and dry, over Steve's cold sensitive nipple, the rest of his fingers still driving at the soft muscles binding his ribs together, like he wants to puncture Steve's lung with the force of his fingertips alone.  

Steve yelps, taken off guard by the abrasive slide of Dustin's thumb in conjunction with all the other oppressive, delicious pains.  Dustin's hands are smooth, his skin soft and unabused by hard labor or sports, but still, it feels like sandpaper across his nipple, already peaked and aching from the cold air coming in under the hem of his shirt.  It makes the breath catch in his chest, building up under his sternum until it aches and burns, his heart picking up speed so rapidly it makes him dizzy, forces him to cling even harder to Dustin for stability, his fingers clenching around the bulky, hard length of Dustin's shaft, hidden under the fabric and zipper of his fly.  Dustin holds him steady, somehow managing to support most of his weight, despite his deceptively soft body, and Steve is able to rut up against him again, the sharp bone of his hip like grinding on a metal bar, unforgiving and so fucking good it makes Steve's vision swim. He presses his face further into the juncture of Dustin's neck, forcing his eyes closed as he sucks more persistently on the pruning fingers in his mouth.

"That's it, baby.  Come on." Dustin's voice is gentle, soothing and sweet, in sharp contrast to the severe handling he's giving Steve's body, and it's everything Steve wants.  Steve moans again, and feels himself tipping closer to the edge of his orgasm, still not quite there, but reaching for it as if it's close enough for fingertips to brush.  He runs his hand over Dustin's dick again and revels in the feeling of it jerking under his fingers, the way Dustin's body flinches with it, everything going even more brutal for a split second before he loosens again and the pain ebbs back to a breath stealing ache, throbbing in time with Steve's staggeringly fast heartbeat.  

Dustin bumps his thigh up between Steve's again, with enough force that it sends Steve's vision to stars behind his eyelids, the pain in his balls brief, but somewhat spectacular as it shoots up through his spine and puts his heart into his rapidly clenching throat.  Then, as Steve is still reeling, nearly coughing around Dustin's soggy fingers, Dustin rolls that thumb over his nipple again, catching the peak of it on his nail, and Steve's voice clambers around in his chest so violently that he thinks it could be categorized as a scream, even though his mouth is full and closed.  He comes with his whole body wincing into it, his dick twitching hard and spilling violently, stinging and burning from the relentless, bruising pressure Steve's been torturing it with.

Dustin holds him through it as he sobs and clings, spit streaming over Dustin's hand where he's hooked his fingers against Steve's bottom teeth and wrenched his jaw down, forcing him to release his sounds into the frigid morning air.  He massages Steve's nipple as he waits, pressure firm now, a sort of gentle acquiescence to the fact that Steve will hurt too much if he lets there be friction again while he's this overwhelmed and vulnerable, his orgasm still twitching through him, spurts still coming, weaker and slower, but somehow still so good it makes Steve want to weep.

When he's done, he draws his head back, and Dustin lets him go, lets his fingers slide easily over Steve's chin, leaving him soaking wet, cold to the point of near numbness after only a few seconds exposed.  He drops his hand off Steve's ribs as well, sliding his palm flat and gentle over the raw, aching heat of it, soothing enough to count as an apology, if they didn't both know already that there's nothing to apologize for.  When Dustin's hands have settled again, soft and and careful, arms wrapped around Steve, protective and supportive, holding him up as he shakes, his legs weak, Steve sighs, content. "Dusty," he says, worshipful, and fond, and sated all at once.  "Please. I want yours."

Dustin's breath hitches and he nuzzles at Steve's temple, turns his body so that he's hunched around Steve, still supporting him, and protecting him from the cold that has become so severe on the wet parts of his body.  "I'm close," he says, breath warm and delicious over the chilled shell of Steve's ear. "Baby, I'm so close."

Steve whines, desperate and pleased and hungry all at once, totally satiated, but still starving for Dustin's release.  He puts his mouth on Dustin's neck, open and hungry, trailing his tongue and teeth across the soft, salty skin until he's reached a spot where he can feel Dustin's pulse thundering harsh and fast.  He scrapes his teeth against the beat of it, presses his tongue into it and imagines he can taste the blood thrumming there, proof of the life and health of Dustin's body. He tightens his hand over the length of Dustin's dick and closes his teeth softly around a small bit of skin at his pulse.  Dustin moans, hard and heavy, and Steve feels the vibration of it against his lips and tongue. He smiles and starts to suck, using his teeth and his tongue to scrape and soothe in turn as he tries to bring a flush of blood to the surface, to burst the vessels there so Dustin will have a pretty bruise to match what's surely splattered all across Steve's ribs.  Dustin presses up into Steve's hand, head falling a little to the side to give him a more comfortable space for his mouth, and his arms go tight around Steve's body, hands still gentle, but hanging on now for balance and support as much as anything. He really is close, Steve thinks, if he's going weak kneed like this, if he's panting so fast and hard that it's fogging around them, harshly white against the watery light filtering into the yard.  

Steve lets himself moan at the thought, lets it bubble up in his chest louder than he usually might after already having come himself, because he wants Dustin to  _know_ , wants him to feel how hungry Steve is for his release, how it's just as, if not more important than Steve's own orgasm when they've been apart for so long.  Even more so when they're about to go do something risky and stupid. Dustin shudders and tilts his head back towards Steve nuzzling him as well as he can with the awkward position, and whimpering, small and quiet, the way Steve loves best, because it's so indicative of Dustin's entire personality that he's vocal and demanding, right up until he's close, and then he holds back, suddenly shy and needy, but unwilling to make it known how desperate he really is.  

Steve loves him so much, it feels like he could power his entire universe on that alone, feels it blossoming in his chest until the petals of it cover every organ inside of him, soft and delicate, but so ravenously consumptive, it makes it impossible for him to ignore, for him to function without it now that he's noticed it there, let it proliferate and grow into a beautiful, suffocating, vibrant thing.  He pulls off of Dustin's neck, then, licking delicately at the purple mark blossoming there, tightening his fingers against Dustin's shaft again, and rolling his palm deliberate and easy over the head as he says, quiet and serious, "I love you, Dusty."

Dustin makes a quick, choked off sort of noise, arching into Steve's touch as much as he's able, and sighs, deep and relieved.  Steve feels Dustin's orgasm rolling through his body, in the fine tremor of his muscles where he's pressed close, and the tightness of his throat against Steve's lips, and the twitching of his dick in his jeans, flinching against Steve's fingers until there's a fresh spread of warmth under them, a searing dampness against Steve's skin even better than the cloying, delicious heat of Dustin's erection had been.  When they go inside to clean up, Steve is going to lick it off of Dustin's skin, until the stickiness and mess are all gone, and Dustin is spit damp instead, his body warm and soft under Steve's hands.

When he's finished, Dustin shuffles back half a step, sliding out of Steve's grip in a slow, purposeful way that let's Steve feel the full length of him, lets him relish the dampness that's risen through the fabric of his jeans.  Then his hands are at Steve's neck, encouraging him to lift his head, fingers gentle against Steve's jaw and over his cheeks. Steve looks at him, voracious and tender, desperate to log every detail of his face, flushed and pretty, his lips swollen and slick, red despite the flaking, chapped skin, his blue eyes swallowed up by the void of his pupils, his hair long enough to fall in wild, unkempt coils around his jaw.  He's magnificent, and soft, and everything Steve loves about the world, all packaged into one lovely body. He's smiling, raw and sweet, like Steve has bruised him just as thoroughly as he's bruised Steve, like maybe he enjoys the feel of it just as much, too. He runs a thumb over Steve's mouth, the touch so light it's almost a whisper. "Welcome home," he says, and somehow it's totally sincere and full of irony all at once.

Steve laughs, quick and punched out, amused and hurt at the same time, suddenly remembering again the reason he's here now, startled that he'd managed to forget even for a moment.  "Thanks," he replies, and is not nearly as deft with his tone, so it comes out as a sort of awed, agonized whisper. Dustin looks at him for another long, sweet moment, and everything in his gaze is a balm, to soothe Steve's nerves, to warm him from the cold, and to fill the aching, gnashing void of loneliness that overcomes him any time he's away.

"Let's go inside.  It's cold, and I'm pretty sure Mrs. Binoculars next door is up by now."  

Steve only nods, unable to galvanize himself into movement, frozen in the tiny, beautiful crystal of the moment, waiting for it to melt or shatter of its own accord.  Dustin takes his hand, wraps his fingers firmly over Steve's, and squeezes, comforting and in control, as if he knows exactly the sort of powerlessness Steve is contending with right now and is perfectly comfortable being the one to tell his body what to do, to guide him and care for him and make sure he does what needs to be done and goes where he needs to go.  Steve squeezes back, and suddenly it feels like holding on to a lifeline, as if letting go will surely mean sinking below the black, glassy surface of an ocean so deep his body will bloat and implode by the time he reaches the bottom, the pressure of the water crushing him before he even manages to drown. But that won't happen, because Dustin is here, holding him aloft, pulling him gently back towards the front door, into the warmth of his home, the safety and protection of his person a more powerful shelter than the walls themselves.

Steve sighs in relief when Dustin pulls the door shut, and realizes he's been holding his breath without noticing, isn't quite sure why.  He only knows he feels unmoored, a small seed of dread sprouting in his belly, underneath the fluffy layer of warmth and happiness that had filled him up when he was curled tight into Dustin's body, sharing pleasure between them.  Dustin squeezes his hand again. "We still have a little while," he says, his quiet voice falling like a feather in the warm silence of the house, drifting lazily through the air to caress Steve's skin as it passes by, harmless and comforting. "Let's just clean up.  We can worry after."

Steve swallows hard, feels his throat closing up around the alien mix of dread and contentment swirling inside his belly and chest, unfurling into his empty spaces until he's only able to languish in his confusion and trust that Dustin will take care of him.  "Yeah," he says, thready and weak. "Okay."

Dustin takes him to the back of the house, leading him gently by the hand, thumb rubbing delicate circles over the jutting bones of Steve's wrist.  He leads Steve into the bathroom, and presses him back against the counter, places his hand delicately down so that he's grasping the edge, and moves to open his pants, careful and purposeful, economic with his efforts, but still sweet as always. He runs his hand over Steve's belly, first under his shirt, and then down into the mess of his orgasm, fingers dragging through the sticky liquid, picking up as much as possible. Steve watches, mesmerized and slowly relaxing, soothed by the touch and the proximity, pleased when Dustin smears his dirty fingers against Steve's lips and then leans in to kiss him, licking at the mess and then pushing his fingers into Steve's mouth along with his tongue, so that they're both licking them clean, the skeleton of a kiss reason enough to keep their mouths joined, despite the intrusion.  Steve moans and Dustin answers him with a quiet, deep noise that reverberates through his chest, but doesn't quite make it out of his throat into his mouth.

When his fingers are clean, Dustin pulls back, wraps them tightly over Steve's jaw and kisses him chastely several times on the mouth, then peppers his face with similar gentle pecks, running his lips over Steve's flaming cheeks, his spit slick chin, his sweaty forehead.  He finishes with a small kiss at the tip of Steve's nose, pulls back smiling as Steve goes a little cross eyed. "Take your pants off, baby," he says, and it's another one of those affectionate statements that is not at all a suggestion.

Steve rushes to do as he's told as Dustin cages him in with his arms, hands on the counter by Steve's hips.  He toes his shoes off clumsily, trying hard not to jostle Dustin or step on his feet, unwilling to risk losing Dustin's body in his space, menacing and sweet all at once, his expression fond and expectant as he watches Steve struggle.  When he does finally get his shoes off, he kicks them aside gracelessly, and pushes desperately at his pants and underwear, only managing to get them halfway down his thighs before he has to start shimmying around in place, kicking them off a little at a time, almost tripping on himself, except that Dustin catches him with a hand on his hip and holds him steady the rest of the way.  When he's finished and has nudged the puddle of messy fabric into a pile near his discarded shoes, he looks up at Dustin and feels somewhat akin to a dog who has just performed a trick and now wants the cookie.

It's a feeling he was familiar with long before he met Dustin, ingrained deep in his bones, as if it's part of his DNA to constantly be seeking approval, striving to do everything that's asked of him, constantly terrified of the force of failure bearing down on him, gnashing at his heels, just waiting for him to trip.  Inevitably, he trips a lot, suffers the crushing vise of his family's disappointment closing around him, crunching his bones into little pieces and rupturing all of his organs until he oozes and bleeds failure so permeatively that, even when he does succeed, there is no praise waiting, no cookie for a reward.

Dustin is the one who brought that into his life, who taught him that, in fact, he is capable of achieving reward, and that sometimes he's even worthy of it just for being who he is, without trying or doing anything spectacular or extra.  He'd thought he found it with Nancy, only to realize that she had merely been setting him to take an even bigger fall, letting him climb the stairs of the gallows and slip his head into his own noose, always under the impression that he was doing everything right.  It wasn't until after that hanging, when his whole world had felt like it was smoldering around him, ashes of it blowing in the wind, gritty in his mouth, clogging up his lungs, that he really met Dustin for the first time, and was finally able to understand that maybe everything isn't always his fault.

Dustin had cared about him almost from the start; certainly within a few hours of their chance meeting, after they'd had a few conversations, and come to mutual ground where, perhaps they didn't really  _understand_  each other yet, but they cared anyways, and were both committed to trying to learn.  Then, over time, as he'd come to know Steve, he'd  _seen_ , in a way that had seemed effortless to Steve, a revelation in the midst of all the others' expectations, all the assumptions and misunderstandings and assertions of his failure.  Dustin had only expected him to be exactly who he was, and had chosen to reward him for meeting those expectations with praise, and devotion, and endless affection. He'd worshipped Steve, first as a hero, and then as a friend, and then, most spectacularly of all, as a lover. He'd taken all the parts of Steve that were conditioned to seek approval and never satisfied, and he'd loved them, and fed them, and nurtured them until Steve felt like a whole person, at least some of the time. He'd given Steve the gift of understanding and acceptance, and helped him learn, arduously and with unflinching determination, to accept himself.  In return, Steve had offered him much the same, and somehow, in the making of it, their relationship had become the most important and positive thing in Steve's life.

Dustin is smiling at him, soft and pleased, and his hand is back on Steve's cheek, caressing him sweetly, inviting him to nuzzle into the touch, just the way he likes best, a reward for completing his task, made even sweeter by Steve's unflinching knowledge that, had he failed, the touch would have been just as tender, the reproach measured and loving, meant to build Steve's confidence for future success, and ensure his knowledge that, even in failure, he's still loved.  Steve whimpers, and presses a kiss into Dustin's palm, gratified and overwhelmed by the flood of memory and sensation welling up inside of him, reminding him of everything Dustin has given him, and of the life they are waiting to build together.

"Now mine, yeah?" Dustin says, gentle like a suggestion or a question, and Steve realizes that this one really is a choice, that Dustin will do it on his own if Steve doesn't feel up to it.

He nuzzles into Dustin's hand again, pressing his face against that warm palm with enough vigor that it startles a small laugh out of Dustin.  He kisses Dustin's palm again and then his fingertips, nipping delicately at them before planting his hand on Dustin's chest and pushing, only hard enough to make him stumble back half a step.  It leaves enough room between them for Steve to drop to his knees, back only slightly uncomfortable against the cabinets where the handles are digging in. He presses his face momentarily against Dustin's belly, nosing at his tshirt and then pressing his mouth there, open and breathing warm against the still chilled fabric.  Dustin drops a hand into his hair, petting soft and sweet, encouraging Steve to keep going as he likes. It makes it easy for him to lift the hem of Dustin's shirt, tangling it between his fingers and pushing it up, palms pressed into Dustin's skin, mouth following behind, teeth and tongue scraping tenderly over the soft swell of Dustin's stomach.  He kisses him at one hip, sucking gently at the spot until he feels Dustin's fingers go a little tight in his hair and knows that he'd be going hard again if he hadn't just had an orgasm. He kisses him lower on his pelvis, runs his tongue up the small trail of coarse hair there and over his navel, avoiding dipping inside, because he knows that makes Dustin ticklish.  

Then he leans back, only enough to see what he's doing, breathing across the trail of wetness he's left and relishing the way Dustin's skin breaks out in gooseflesh at the sensation it causes.  He lets his fingers linger on the buckle of Dustin's belt for a few seconds, tapping them gently along the top, so that his fingertips are still brushing Dustin's skin, and then he sets to it for real.  He pulls the belt open with a sort of cautious focus, eager to get it done quickly, but not willing to fumble about with it. He pulls the belt free when he's done, pleased when Dustin arches his hips back a bit to give him more room, and then he puts it around his own neck, pulling the strap through the loop of the buckle until it's tight enough that any more will restrict his airflow.  He looks expectantly up at Dustin and waits until he takes the end of the belt in his own hand to release it. Dustin smiles at him, soft and reverent, keeping the pressure constant on Steve's neck and using his free hand to run a thumb over Steve's cheek and down the bridge of his nose, tender and affectionate.

Steve stares up at him for a long moment, enjoying the sensation of being on his knees and totally at Dustin's mercy, and then averts his gaze, submissive and ready to focus again on the task at hand. He opens Dustin's pants and pushes them down over his hips, along with his underwear, so that he can get at the mess of cum inside. He has to pause for another quick moment to appreciate the view, Dustin's fat dick sitting soft pretty between his thighs, nestled over the heavy swell of his balls, dropped low now that he's satisfied and warm, tantalizing in a way that has saliva flooding up under Steve's tongue, forcing him to swallow or start drooling.  He does a little of both, swallowing once, and then leaning forward to run his tongue delicately over Dustin's shaft, not wanting to stimulate him too much, knowing that he can't get hard again yet, but so desperate to taste that he has to do it anyways.

The taste is powerful, and Steve wouldn't hesitate to say that Dustin probably hasn't showered in a few days, too caught up in the resurgence of terror, unable to focus on anything but what the  _fuck_ they're going to do now.  Steve knows it must be bad, because otherwise Dustin never would've asked him to come back, never would've thought to put Steve's life at risk unless his own sanity was really on the line.  As much as he hates the stress of it all, hates that they're back here again, the world at stake and all their lives in danger, hates that Dustin must be feeling an apocalypse of his own inside, he still finds the taste of him incredible.  The salt of sweat and the musk of Dustin's arousal mingling together with the cooling remnants of his orgasm are enough to make Steve shiver and start to go hard again, always much faster on the repeat than Dustin could hope to be.

"Jesus," Dustin breathes.  "You are easy, aren't you?"  He sounds pleased and fond, voice deep and rich in a way it only gets during sex.  Steve only presses closer to him, licking at his skin in a concerted effort to eat all of the cum there, moaning as he does it, and trying to lean down against the pressure of the belt at his neck at the same time.  Dustin catches on to the movement and laughs, quiet and dark, pulling gently at the end of the belt again, until it goes just a little tighter, making it an effort to breathe, but nowhere near impossible. Steve feels lightheaded just from the implication of it, dizzy and intoxicated, the taste of Dustin's unwashed skin and cum cloying and savory like coming home.  He drops a hand to his dick, and Dustin flinches a little at the sight of it, pulling tight enough to wrench a cough out of Steve's throat before going loose again and rushing to apologize, loosening the loop of it completely to give Steve time to recover as he does. Steve just looks up at him from under his lashes, eyes hooded and sensitive, probably totally dilated if the stabbing ache of the overhead light means anything.  Dustin hums in acknowledgement of the complaint Steve didn't actually voice, dropping the hand holding the belt to the back of Steve's neck as he leans over him, pressing closer against his face as he reaches to flip the overhead light off and turn the vanity light on instead.

The relief is immediate and Steve reaches up to grab at Dustin's ass with his free hand, squeezing gently, just to enjoy the way the muscles flex under his fingertips as Dustin moves back to a regular stance.  Dustin squeezes softly at the back of his neck, the bulk of the leather belt in his hand pressing uncomfortably against the base of Steve's skull, and then lets go, pulling the leather taut again and drawing a quiet whimper out of Steve.  Dustin is smiling down at him, soft and full of adoration. "Think you can get off like that, sweetheart? Just your face close like this and your hand on your dick?"

Steve moans, and it goes a little high pitched at the end, ratcheted up by his frantic desire to get off in exactly that way.  Dustin tugs at the belt lightly, a small gesture of approval. "Good," he says, magnanimous and entitled all at once.

Steve rests his cheek against the top of Dustin's thigh, so that his nose is pressed close to Dustin's dick, the smell of arousal and sweat so strong that it's almost overwhelming, and he realizes he's salivating again, lets his mouth drop open and leak onto the floor, the scent even better as it floats over his tongue, warm and delicious.  He touches himself slowly, wary of how sensitive he still is after rubbing himself raw against cotton and denim, pressing himself so hard into the unforgiving jut of bone at Dustin's hip. His knees are aching, naked against the hard, cold tile of the bathroom floor, and he feels them throbbing in time with the knife raw bruises on his ribs, and the swollen, too little air feeling in his head.  Everything in him feels a little rhythmic now, the steady pressure of the belt at his arteries not quite cutting off his air, not quite pressing hard enough to make his vision start to blacken, but just enough to make him aware of the flow of blood throughout every part of himself, of the effort of inhaling and exhaling, all of his breaths saturated with the heady taste and smell of Dustin, exactly how he wants it to be.  His fingertips slip over the tip of his dick, sliding clumsily through the slit, already leaking to the point of slickness, drooling onto the floor as much as Steve's saliva flooded mouth.

"That's good, sweetheart," Dustin coos, and presses his free hand to Steve's exposed cheek, digging in gently with his thumb and sliding it through the trail of spit on his chin until he can press at Steve's lower lip, not trying to enter him, but making sure Steve knows he could if he wanted to.  Steve whines and licks at Dustin's thumb, then turns and licks at the base of his dick as best he can, Dustin's hand still cupped over most of the lower part of his face. He only catches a little bit of skin, tongue sliding up and over the rough hair at Dustin's groin, but the sensation of both is good enough to send Steve lightheaded for another reason, just happy to be able to be here, so close to all of Dustin's most sensitive and vulnerable parts.  He holds on to Dustin's hip, but is careful not to dig his fingers in, not wanting to leave any real bruises, because he knows how Dustin's body aches uncomfortably when he's bruised. He strokes himself again, tighter this time, and tries not to lose himself too much in the feeling of throbbing in his fingers and dick, going in time with all the other parts of his body, but somehow still separate, as if he's equally aware of each sensation, but can't conceptualize them as connected by the confines of his existence.  He keens as he catches a nail on his slit, half pain, half startled bliss. Dustin shushes him sweetly, hand gentle and warm against his cheek, thumb pressing at the corner of his mouth approvingly as he loosens the belt just a bit, fully aware that Steve needs more air the further gone he gets.

Steve presses into his hand, eager for the comfort of his gentle touch, even if it forces him away from the smell and taste of Dustin's groin.  He's had enough that he thinks it could probably carry him, and even so, he's not so far away that he can't still open his mouth and taste the warm, intoxicating scent of Dustin's musk on his tongue.  Dustin lets him, leaves his hand where it is and runs his thumb gently over Steve's lips and chin in a soothing pattern, touch feather light, but still reassuring. Steve whimpers, quiet and low, more because he wants Dustin to know he's feeling vulnerable and happy than because his body demands a sound from him.  He likes to be noisy even when he doesn't have to, because it always makes Dustin so fond, his touches and voice always so clearly enamored whenever it seems like Steve can't shut the fuck up.

He is close, though, despite how little he's actually touched himself, and despite the fact that normally he takes quite a bit longer to come a second time.  Today is just special, he guesses; his body hypersensitive from stress and adrenaline, from being crammed in the car for hours on end, hypervigilant on the lookout for cops, but unwilling to drive any safer, too desperate to come here and be with Dustin when the danger and stress are so insurmountable.  He hadn't even considered, as he was ripping over the highway and careening through every small town from there to here, that he would have this first. He hadn't thought there would be a moment to spare, or that Dustin would have the presence of mind to be up for it. He'd been wound up to the point of unraveling, ready to do whatever needed to be done, and now he's here, with Dustin's hands on his body, the taste of Dustin's cum fresh on his tongue, the smell of him strong in the air, just as much arousal as stress, and it's pushing Steve back up to the ledge so fast he's a little dizzy with it, unsure how it's even physically possible to recover and get close again this quickly.  It probably hasn't even been ten minutes.

He strokes himself again, absently, as if it's the least important part of the whole equation on this quest for release, although it still feels incredible, playing with the achey, floaty, throbbing feeling of his whole body, condensed down into a single point of slick friction on his already oversensitive dick.  His hole stings and burns, too abused during their frot in the front yard, unready for even more salt and slick to pass through, even more sensitive to the relatively light pressure of Steve's fingers. He hisses and realizes all at once that it's not the kind of pain he likes, at least not right now, and it makes a little bubble of panic rise up behind his heart.

"You're okay," Dustin says, quiet and soothing, running his hand back into Steve's hair and loosing the belt on his neck completely.  "Tell me what's wrong."

Steve looks up at him and feels helpless and safe, a combination that only Dustin is ever able to foster in him.  "It stings," he says, and fails at keeping the whine from his tone, despite his best effort.

Dustin looks at him for a long moment, seemingly evaluating the situation to come up with a solution.  "Alright," he says, finally. "Go sit on the toilet. Lid down."

Steve goes to crawl in the right direction, dropping to put his hands on the tile, because he's genuinely not sure if he can make it to fully standing right now, and the belt catches him, just tightening when he's on all fours.  He moans dejectedly and doesn't want to ask to take it off, because he's the one who put it on in the first place, and he doesn't want to be a disappointment, but also he really wants it off now, feels too vulnerable and full of sensation to handle it, no matter how good it might usually be.  Dustin drops to a crouch next to him, the belt going loose as he does, and runs his hand down Steve's spine, petting gently at the small of Steve's back when he gets there, fingers dipping up under the hem of his shirt where it's ridden up. "You're done with this stuff for today, huh?" he asks, coaxing and careful, like he's fully aware of Steve's misgivings and wants him to know it's okay.  It's a cognizance that has been hard earned after months of getting to know each other again, in this new context, every slip up weighing heavy on Dustin's conscience, even if Steve only remembers how sweetly he apologized and made things right.

Steve nods.  "It's too much," he says, and knows Dustin will understand, knows that even if he didn't, he'd be kind to Steve.  Dustin is always kind to him, always tender and gentle, always treats him like he's special and deserves careful handling, even when the things they do are inherently rough.  Dustin only wants to hurt Steve if he knows Steve wants it in the moment, and he only gets off on it because he feeds on Steve's own arousal. Steve loves him and wishes he had the time and fortitude to dedicate his whole life to making sure Dustin feels appreciated.  He looks back over his shoulder at him, where he's crouched at Steve's hip, hand steadying and supportive on his back, and hopes that his expression relays the feeling.

Dustin leans down and presses a soft, reverent kiss at the small of Steve's back, running his fingers over the spot afterwards, like he wants to make sure the love in it sticks to Steve's skin.  When he's satisfied, he stands again, and moves to take the belt off Steve's neck, loosening it as wide as he can and pulling it over his head and away, careful to avoid smacking Steve in the face, or touching him with the firm leather at all now that Steve has declared he's done. He drops the belt onto the pile of clothes and shoes by the sink and then leans down to stroke the back of Steve's neck and over his clothed shoulder. "Alright," he says, quiet and gentle. "On the toilet now." It's firm and stern, but voiced so softly Steve can't feel anything harsh in it. It's a command, but clearly voiced with love, because they both know, whatever Dustin is going to do, he's going to take care of Steve, and all Steve has to do is as he's told.

It's a relief, to have his wants considered and acquiesced to, even as his submission is taken for granted, because even when he's ordering Steve around, Dustin still respects and loves him first and most of all. Everything else is enjoyable, but totally secondary. Steve crawls shakily over the short stretch of tile, relieved when he hits the fuzzy bathmat, and then pulls himself gingerly onto the toilet, sitting on the closed lid, and trying not to remember that he's incredibly hard, and too sensitive to figure out a way to relieve himself. Dustin is going to figure it out for him, so he can just relax and let himself bask in the last little bit of peace they're going to have for what will probably feel like a very long while.

What Dustin does is slide up in front of him, standing in the bracket of Steve's knees, and cradle Steve's face in his hands, so gentle he's almost shaking with the effort, as if he really wants Steve to know that he sees him as a delicate thing. Steve feels all of the heat roar up inside himself again, curling hot and low in his pelvis until he feels another stinging slide of precum out of his dick, and his eyes are pricking with tears, but he can't be sure if it's from the pain, or from the overwhelming, choking feeling of being catastrophically in love. Dustin's face is solemn, serious and gentle, and he runs his thumbs over Steve's cheeks in a way that feels like veneration. "You are everything to me," he says, barely a whisper, his volume sapped by the immense tenderness and devotion in his tone. Steve's breath hitches, and he tries very hard not to let himself start crying, can't even say anything back because his throat has gone so tight.

Dustin kisses his forehead and then his mouth, just for a moment, chaste and gentle, and Steve's eyes slip close as he savors the feeling of it, Dustin's lips a little chap rough, but so warm and plush and familiar that it can only be comforting. He pulls back only enough to speak, his lips still brushing against Steve's as he whispers a soft, "I love you," and Steve can only give a quiet, low moan in return.

He doesn't realize until Dustin's hands slide away from his face, fingertips riding delicately over his jaw, that Dustin isn't standing anymore. He opens his eyes, and has to look down to find Dustin's gaze, realizes with a sort of divine astonishment that Dustin is on his knees now, settled between Steve's legs, looking up at him as if there's nowhere else he belongs, nothing else he could possibly be thinking of in the moment than how he wants to please Steve. He smiles, and the sweetness of it is tempered with the barest hint of impish warning. Steve whimpers again, and mutters a quiet, confused, "Dusty?" He's totally unable to connect the dots and formulate a picture of what is happening now, so wrapped up in the feeling of Dustin's hands resting hot on his thighs, and Dustin's gaze like a reward on it's own, so full of adoration it makes Steve feel like an impostor, because he knows he _can't possibly_  have earned it, except that, apparently he has, because he knows Dustin wouldn't look at anyone else that way.

"I'm going to suck you off, sweetheart," Dustin says, matter of fact and amused all at once, and Steve goes tense, whole body flashing hot because it's been so long since they were together, so long since he had this, and he thinks he might just disintegrate on the spot, his body flying apart into a billion little pieces under the pressure of his own contentment. Dustin kisses his knee, turns his face into Steve's thigh and nuzzles at him gently, giving Steve time to adjust to the idea before moving on. He runs his hands up Steve's thighs, firm but not pressing in, and Steve is grateful for the restraint, feeling oversensitive and twitchy. Dustin kisses his knee again, and rests his hands lightly at Steve's hips, thumbs just barely dipping into the creases of Steve's groin. "Okay?" he asks, quiet and encouraging, as if he genuinely wants to know whether it's alright for him to start, as if he'd genuinely stop altogether if Steve said no, even though he hadn't posed his plan as a question.

Steve bites his lip and nods, gratified by the constant assurance he always feels when he's with Dustin, that even though he likes to be bossed around and told what to do, it really is all about his decisions, and Dustin will never tread on his autonomy. Dustin smiles at him, a lot more mischief in it now, and presses his thumbs delicately into Steve's skin, just enough for Steve to feel it and be reminded what part of him is about to get involved again. Then he's there, mouthing gently at Steve's dick, mostly tongue and very little of his chapped, rough lips, seemingly hyperaware of Steve's earlier complaints as the reason they're doing this at all. The heat of it startles Steve, makes him jump and whine, but Dustin just looks up at him, smiling amused and soft, like he thinks Steve is cute. Steve puts his hand on Dustin's where it's still gripping his hip, and Dustin smiles even harder, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his face lighting up all sweet and open in a way that seems like it should be off, considering their current activities, but just seems right when it's Dustin. He always makes sex a happy thing, a positive thing for them to share and bask in together. Steve's heart stumbles and begins to race again and his cheeks suddenly feel very warm as Dustin lets go of his hip and takes his hand instead, lacing their fingers together and turning back to his task.

He licks at Steve again, and then drops his free hand to press against Steve's pelvis, bracketing the base of Steve's dick with his thumb, his fingers splayed flat into Steve's pubic hair, pressing gently, but enough that Steve feels a small twinge in his bladder, like maybe he's going to think about pissing soon. He's touching as little of Steve's dick as possible, only putting enough pressure there to keep him stable while he uses his mouth, which is much softer and less abrasive. Steve squeezes Dustin's fingers in his, touched and overwhelmed by his determination to make it good for Steve, even though he's entirely at fault for being too rough with himself. It's his own fault, but still Dustin is being sweet about it, his touch gentle, and his tongue warm and delicate, running strokes up the underside of Steve's dick with only enough pressure to be felt on the surface, but not to press at the sensitive, stinging tract inside. When he finishes each stroke, he pauses to press delicately into the tip, making sure not to cause too much friction or pressure, but slick and hot enough that Steve knows Dustin's mouth is going to be coated in his precum, the thin, sticky liquid leaking out in a slow, steady drool, gushing occasionally in response to the too light, too hot, just right feeling of Dustin's tongue and nothing else.

It doesn't take Steve long to realize he's getting close again, his whole body winding up on itself, muscles clenching until he's achy and sore all over, and he's acutely aware of his balls drawing up, tight and close, his orgasm coiling in his gut, making him feel like he's about to jump off a cliff, if only he could get the push he so desperately needs. He whines, and feels himself squeezing even harder at Dustin's poor fingers, but can't quite get his brain to relay the message of  _loosen up_ to his hand. Dustin just hums in acknowledgement, and Steve can see that he's smiling and pleased as he licks again at Steve's slit, even though his hand must be sore. When Steve whines again, sharp and frantic, taking himself by surprise as his whole body flinches into it, suddenly desperate, Dustin takes him fully down. He doesn't suck, only lets his mouth open and takes Steve in, lips still soft enough to protect Steve from teeth, tongue moving in a gentle rhythm along the underside as Steve's dick rests at the back of his throat, deep enough that he can feel the slow, devastating pressure of Dustin swallowing around him.

Steve doesn't have the time or presence of mind to warn him any more than he already has, focused as he is on the task of  _not_ letting his hips jerk up to choke Dustin, who already has Steve's dick as far down his throat as he can manage, particularly now that Steve is coming. Instead, Steve curls in on himself, knees pressing tight against Dustin's body, his free hand falling to the back of Dustin's neck, hanging on and trying very hard to not to squeeze, especially since he's already got a death grip on Dustin's hand.  Dustin hums, intentional and deep, so that Steve will feel it ricochet through his body, his orgasm intensifying until all he can do is hang on and try not to move at all. It's a delicate task Dustin's working at, and as much as Steve is currently nigh on whiting out, he can't stand the thought that Dustin will choke on his cum or come away coughing. Instead, he just holds on, as much of his body in contact with Dustin's as possible, and focuses on the way he can feel Dustin swallowing fast and hard, and when he's finally done, and feels shaky and weak, like if Dustin lets go he'll either collapse into nothingness or float away into the sky forever, he moans, distraught and satisfied all at once.

Dustin pulls off slowly, mouth open the whole way, but letting Steve slide heavy over his tongue as he goes, and closing his lips at the tip, just enough to collect whatever remains of his orgasm. When he's done, he looks up, smiling warm and devilish, running his thumb over the corners of his wet mouth and then licking it clean, slow and intentional, maintaining heavy eye contact as he does. Steve's chest feels like it's full of cotton candy, warm and ever fluffing, spinning out to huge volume, until he thinks surely there will be spun sugar oozing out of every orifice he has, because Dustin makes him feel sweet and lovely with only a look. He lets go of Dustin's hand in favor of cupping his face, brings his other hand around from his neck, so that each of Dustin's cheeks is pressed against one of his palms, his flush making them hot to the touch. Dustin lets him do as he pleases, just stays there, on his knees, naked from the waist down same as Steve, staring up him content and benevolent, as if there's no hurry to move on, no other priorities in his mind aside from making Steve feel good.

Steve stares at him for a long time, feels himself dropping deep and hard into seriousness, overwhelmed by the situation of the day, and by Dustin's care, and by wonder and revelation that this relationship is real, that they made it together, and it's so good Steve wonders how on earth he possibly could've contributed. It's not a new sentiment by any means, and in fact, he probably has similar thoughts at least once a week, even more when he sees Dustin every day, but here, now, with the knowledge of the apocalypse waiting impatient and menacing just outside the front door, the feeling is heavy, all consuming and sanctifying.

"I love you," Steve says, and it feels as if it's the first time he's ever said it to anyone, as if he's only just come to realize or understand the nature of love at all, as if he's only capable of declaring it once in his whole life, and is choosing this moment to do it.

Dustin smiles, and it's like a full moon, bright and pristine in an inky black sky, solemn and dignified in acknowledgment of the moment, yet totally free, as if he's taken in the gravity of Steve's emotions and found peace in them, so that he can return the sentiment unburdened and polished to a shine of contentment. "I love you, too," he says, voice quiet and steady, full of equal weight, but somehow so much lighter than Steve's declaration had been.

Steve smiles, warm and exultant. "Do you think we should go save the world now?" he asks, and Dustin laughs, brilliant and effervescent.

"Yeah," he says. "I think the world would appreciate that."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. If you carry on with the series, please heed the tags on the next part. Feel free to say hi on other platforms. I'm turtlenovas on tumblr, pillowfort, and instagram.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Reunification](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20470484) by [TurtleNovas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleNovas/pseuds/TurtleNovas)




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